


Diamonds and champagne

by neverthecanonOTP



Series: Invisible string [1]
Category: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Cal makes bad jokes, Dry Humping, F/M, I can't write smut for the life of me, Pretty Woman AU, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25815679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverthecanonOTP/pseuds/neverthecanonOTP
Summary: Five thousand and three hundred dollars. That’s what she came here for, to the most exclusive nightclub in Archeon, where the wealthy and beautiful come to get wasted with imported champagne and hook up with people who are as vain as them.No other place is as full of perfect prey as this place, all distracted and dripping money. And that’s exactly what Mare needs: money.And quickly.
Relationships: Mare Barrow/Tiberias "Cal" Calore VII
Series: Invisible string [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891324
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	Diamonds and champagne

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. I just needed a RomCom with my favorite angsty ship and Pretty woman is a classic so here you go.

Black high heels, a little spaghetti strap red dress, and red lipstick. Mare huffs fighting with the hem of the dress Gisa made her like 3 years ago that she never wore, trying to pull it down at least an inch. The damned thing won’t budge, it even rides up as she walks in front of the mirror, stopping right below the curve of her ass. _Great_ , flashing her panties to the club is just what she was looking for. 

“Fuck it,” she mutters as she grabs the clutch purse she left on her unmade bed and gathers the courage to go out to the living room. 

Cameron, her roommate, is on the couch curled up against Kilorn’s side, his arm thrown over her shoulder, both of them bathed by the intermittent blue light of the TV. It’s funny to think now about how much Cameron hated her guts when she first moved in, only warming up to her half a year in and partially because she enjoyed having Mare’s best friend over way more that Mare herself did. It wasn’t long before they started dating. 

Mare stands there awkwardly and clears her throat. 

They turn to her and Cameron’s eyebrows shoot so high up they almost get lost behind her coils. Kilorn gapes like a fish before roaring with laughter. 

“What is that?” he asks hitting his knee like he is a cartoon character. 

“A dress, dumbass,” Mare glares daggers at him. 

“Mare- I can’t believe I’m saying this- you look hot.” Cameron pauses the TV and bends over Kilorn to turn on the light. She looks at her like she might start laughing too, but has the decency to refrain from doing so. 

“Hot as in I fit in with the rich assholes at The Rift? or hot as in trashy reality show celebrity?” If she is to pull off tonight, she needs the former. 

“Hot as in you actually have an ass underneath all those baggy rags you like to wear, wow.” 

She takes Cam’s jab at her style, or lack of it, in stride and concludes that’s good enough. 

“Thanks. I’ll be back before midnight, don’t get too cozy on the couch please,” she says as she goes for the door and grabs her keys from the key-rack. Last time she went out with her friends from work, she returned earlier than expected to the cursed sight of Kilorn’s bum out in the open. It wasn’t an experience she cared to repeat. Just because they had grown up together doesn’t mean she has to know his every crevice and cranny… she cringes just thinking about it. 

He sobers up enough to say, “oh no, looking like that you’re not coming back early.” 

Mare flips him off before grabbing her jean jacket from the hanger and slamming the door shut. 

~ 

The line to The Rift goes around the block and people keep showing up. If she were to try to get in by herself, she wouldn’t make it to the door. What’s the obsession with this place? In a few minutes, she will find out. 

Ann Walsh waves at her from the entrance. Mare waves back and gives her a quick hug once she gets there. 

“Girl, you look stunning,” Walsh eyes her up and down with her eyes like plates. OK, so she doesn’t dress up frequently, why does everyone have to make a big deal about it? 

“You look amazing, as always.” 

Her friend is wearing a black dress that clings nicely to her fit body. She’s such a proper lady, with an actual office job and a good head on her shoulders. No wonder Bree had to fuck things up with her- or keep messing things up. Mare has lost count on how many times they broke up and got back together. Right now, she is his ex-something. And like any self-respecting woman must do, she plans on getting piss drunk and going home with some stranger out of spite. For this plan, she invited Mare, with the double intention of getting her to meet the hottest spot in the city (courtesy of her brother working as a security guard here), and with the hopes that Mare will pass on the information about her escapade over to Bree so that he will beg her to get back together for the hundredth time. 

Walsh leads her to the side of the building and through a service door, where Ann’s brother is expecting them. 

“Glad you finally decided to accept the invitation,” he says with a big smile. 

“I ran out of excuses and your sister is very insistent.” That’s not at all why she is here, but he doesn’t need to know that. In fact, nobody can know. 

They walk through the emergency door into the ground level dancefloor and the strobing lights, blaring music and the human heat of hundreds of pressed dancing bodies welcome them in. 

“Have fun,” Walsh’s brother disappears behind the door. 

Mare and Walsh make small talk or at least try to as they walk over to the real entrance to leave their coats at the coat check. 

“Let’s get someone to buy us drinks!” Walsh raises her voice over the sound. 

At the bar, it takes exactly zero minutes for Walsh to find them a pair of douchey guys to come over to flirt with them. Pasty blond number one goes for her friend and Pasty blond number two goes for Mare. She’s relieved Walsh found a distraction so quickly, makes it easier for her to leave her side to go do what she came to do. First, she needs to get rid of Chad or whatever his name is. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says leaning over to speak in her ear with no concept of personal space. “I’m Kevin. What can I get you? Wait- don’t tell me.” He wolfishly inspects her. “A strawberry daiquiri.” 

“Right, because I’m wearing red. Smart.” 

The sarcasm goes over his head and he orders the extremely overly priced drink. Mare takes a look at her friend and sends her a silent _‘should I rescue you or is he decent?’_ question, raising her eyebrows pointing at Blond number one’s back. Walsh smiles and nods, it’s going great for her. 

“There you go.” Kevin gives her the tall girly glass with a wink. “As sweet as you.” 

Mare takes the glass from him. 

“Thanks,” she says dryly, “too bad I have diabetes. In fact, it’s time for my insulin shot. Bye, Calvin.” 

She takes off zigzagging between the crowd. She needs a vantage point, so she goes straight to the dancefloor on the second level, leaning her hip against the railing as she assesses the situation. 

Five thousand and three hundred dollars. That’s what she came here for, to the most exclusive nightclub in Archeon, where the wealthy and beautiful come to get wasted with imported champagne and hook up with people who are as vain as them. It’s a miracle she knew someone who could get her in. No other place is as full of perfect prey as this place, all distracted and dripping money. And that’s exactly what she needs: money. And quickly. 

She scans the place. There are some nice watches here and there, cute bracelets and she spots a guy flashing bills over a table covered in tequila shots. She’s looking for something bigger, her El Dorado, a single item worth thousands. She takes a sip of the sugary drink and almost chokes on it when she sees _them_. Across the dancefloor, the bouncer at the VIP platform removes the velvet rope so a group of the most perfect humans she has ever seen can climb up the stairs. A lean guy with icy blue eyes, a dark-skinned girl with a doll face, holding on to a menacing looking guy’s arm with platinum blond hair; a couple of Victoria’s Secret models, one redhead and the other platinum blonde; and finally, a god. _He’s not a god, Jesus Christ, he’s just a tall, hot well-dressed dude_ , she chides herself. 

A twinkle in the blonde’s neck reminds her of her task. She smirks when she registers the exquisite silver and diamonds chocker the girl is wearing. Time to work. 

Mare trails the girl easily as she moves around the club, dancing carelessly in the arms of her friend. Wherever they go, the crowd adjusts to them like they are the sun. Mare’s eyes keep drifting to _that_ guy, but she convinces herself it’s only because he is wearing a Rolex. Yeah, that’s it. Her opportunity comes when the blonde happens to walk just beneath the catwalk she is currently standing on. 

“Don’t be mean, Eve. You know he is like that because Thomas had to go on that self-discovery bullshit trip.” The redhead is trying to pull the other girl back to where they came from. 

Mare looks at the half-empty daiquiri in her hand and a light bulb goes off in her head. 

“Maven has always been a bitter little bi-“ The pink drink splashes on her perfect hair. Eve screams and curses and Mare runs down the stairs pulling some kleenex out of her purse. 

“Oh god, I’m so so sorry,” she apologizes profusely while clumsily patting the napkins on the blonde’s head. “I had waay too many drinks. I’m sorry!” 

“Get off of me!” Eve shouts batting her off, then she takes a step forward and glares daggers at her. “I-will- _kill_ \- you.” 

Her girlfriend grabs her by the waist and pushes her to the nearest restroom. “It was an accident, baby. Let’s get this off your hair before it dries.” 

They leave and Mare tries to remain cool as she makes her way to the entrance. The silver and diamonds chocker pressed in her palm. Her head is spinning with the taste of victory, so happy she feels like dancing for the first time since she got here. 

Which is probably why she makes the first bad call of the night. 

Walsh shows up, half-drunk already, and throws her arm over her shoulders. She hates when people do that, just because she’s short doesn’t mean she is a walking armrest. 

“MARE! C’mon, I met some new friends and they want to meet you.” She pulls her to a box with seats and an alcohol covered table near the bar. The group sitting there is loud and friendly and way too careless with their personal belongings. In less than 10 minutes chatting with them, she manages to slip 2 wallets, 2 bracelets, and a watch. God, it’s so easy. She had stopped pickpocketing years ago, but the quick reflexes haven’t worn off. 

When she sees Walsh get cozy with blond guy number one, that’s her cue to leave. 

Bad call number two: getting greedy. These rich people are so dumb, she thinks as she spots a guy with his back turned to her, stretching over the crowd to get to the bar, his right arm sporting a gleaming Rolex. It calls to her like a siren song. She is quick, just a brush and the watch could be all hers. 

It happens so fast she thinks it must be a trick from the strobing lights. She reaches for the clasp, with touch lighter than a feather. The Rolex owner turns around and grabs her wrist like a huge warm shackle, inescapably firm. Her eyes shoot up wide and afraid. 

_Oh shit_. It’s the god- the murderous blonde’s friend. She gulps. 

“Were you stealing from me?” He asks knitting his brow. His eyes are fire embers, burning right through her, but there’s no anger in them, only confusion and... amazement? 

“You have no proof,” she snaps. Ok, that sounds guilty as hell. Good work. 

“It’s not hard to guess since you were cleaning house back there,” he nods to the friendly drunks’ table. 

The blood drains from her face as dread settles on the bottom of her stomach. 

“I- ah-” Mare stammers before reaching for a random woman’s champagne flute and throwing the drink at the god’s face. His grip loosens, she twists her wrist free and scurries away taking full advantage of her height to disappear in the crowd. 

Her pulse thumps in her ears as she reaches the door, laser-focused on it. So much that she is completely blindsided by the platinum blonde suddenly blocking it, pointing at her with the wrath of an army behind her implacable gray eyes. 

“There she is!” she growls, “That’s the thief!” 

Mare halts to a stop nearly running into the other girl. Two security guards the size of mammoths flank her. 

This is it then. Her short-lived attempt at helping her little sister ends with her in prison and her mother screaming at her through a bullet-proof glass between them. _Wonderful_. She considers surrendering, but on second thought... annoying this bitch for as long as she can sounds even better. Mare lifts her eyebrows shocked. 

“Me? I don’t even know you.” 

“Ohh.” Her manicured hands curl into fists as she smirks. “ _But you will_. You’ll regret taking my choker.” 

She is starting to believe messing with a wasp’s nest isn’t the smartest idea when a male voice booms nearby, sending shivers down her spine. 

“Evangeline! There you were!” He appears next to her. She barely dares to look at him, falling deeper into the trap of her own making. With a startle, she feels his hand settle high on her waist. “We were looking for you.” 

“You were?” She cocks an eyebrow. 

_We were?_ Mare echoes. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you two properly, but I found your choker on the floor and asked my friend to keep it in her purse.” 

_WHAT?_

“Wha-” Evangeline squints at her friend and then at the girl and then back to her friend. “Is that so, Cal?” 

Mare smiles like an angel, on the verge of bursting with tears of relief, or laughter, or both, reaching to the inside of her clutch purse and innocently extending the piece of jewelry. 

“Now if that’s settled, we were just leaving,” he says walking past Evangeline, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head and waving to the redhead girlfriend. 

She doesn’t need to be told twice. Mare trails closely behind ‘Cal’, and smiles again as she brushes Evangeline’s side. 

“Nice to meet you, Evangeline.” She sniffs the air before commenting dryly. “Strawberry doesn’t suit you, try something less sweet next time.” 

She walks out the door, into the entrance hallway, feeling like she narrowly escaped death, her hands tingling with euphoric energy. She is about to throw a fist in the air, Breakfast Club style, when the sight of Cal leaning against the wall slam dunks her back into reality. He’s looking at her from head to toe, with an amused twinkle in his bronze eyes. 

“Thanks for the help,” she says awkwardly. 

“No problem. I’m sure everyone will be glad to find the stuff they _lost_ at the coat check.” 

_Ah, there it is._ He is having her leave unharmed but empty-handed. She deflates, her head already pulsing with an oncoming migraine. She can’t help Gisa, not tonight, not _ever_. Mare goes over to the coat check, deposits the ‘found’ items in the box for said purpose, and gets her jean jacket back. 

She walks out into the pleasant chill of the summer night, burying her hands in her pockets as she makes the mental math how much savings she has or what can she sell. Same as before she came, same as the day and week before: she has 75 miserable dollars on her name. Not even close to what she needs. 

“You know stealing is not the answer, right? You could get a job.” 

She whips her head to the side. Cal is driving the most ridiculous motorcycle she has ever seen; a black BMW that looks like it was pulled straight out of a sci-fi film. Beneath his open jacket, his white dress shirt clings to his broad chest in the spot where she threw champagne at him. Mare tears her eyes off him, he is very distracting. Right, she should answer something. 

“I have a job, asshole. I needed the money. Have a nice night back in your palace.” _Privileged little fuck_ , she wants to add, but she’s too emotionally worn to pick a fight. She crosses her arms over her chest, walking faster. 

A beat passes, Cal stops, she’s a good 10 feet away when the proposition drops from his mouth like a nuclear bomb in the middle of an otherwise calm starless night. 

“I’ll give you five thousand dollars if you spend the night with me.” 

Mare freezes in place, her eyes opening like a pair of coins. _Five thousand._ Her mind registers that before anything else, which is why she turns and counteroffers. 

“Ten thousand.” As the words leave her mouth, she realizes what she has just agreed to. Panic swells in her chest until she sees the look of bewilderment on Cal’s face. He seems just as shocked as her by what he said, that she accepted and even the next thing he says. 

“Fifteen.” He blurts out like he had been preparing for her not to accept, but his mind didn’t catch up to the fact she did. _Damn, she should have asked for more._

“Fifteen thousand, deal.” Mare extends her hand before he can back out. Her heart is beating wildly in her chest, screaming at her _‘You idiot, what are you doing?!’._

“Deal,” he says still confused like it wasn’t him the one that initiated this madness. 

“Wait,” She retreats her hands a little, “how do I know you’re not a psycho killer?” 

Cal fumbles with his jacket pockets until he pulls a wallet and shows her his ID. Tiberias Calore VII. She snorts in a very undignified way. There’s no way that name is made up, it’s too humiliating. Mare takes a picture of it and sends it to Walsh and Cameron, telling them ‘just in case’. 

“There,” she turns on the tracker and puts her phone away. “If something happens to me, you’ll be the first suspect.” 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” his voice goes very solemn. She almost feels bad for making the joke. Almost. A girl can never be too careful these days. 

“I believe you.” Mare nods trying to hide the weird excitement that’s buzzing in her chest. She takes the passenger helmet from his hand and hops on the back of the bike. He is so close; it awakens something in her. She grabs on to the side handles at the back of the seat to avoid touching him. 

He lowers the visor of his helmet and asks over the rumble of the reignited engine. 

“You didn’t mention your name.” 

“Mare Titanos,” she lies on the spot. It sounds like a hooker name she realizes too late. _Well... if the shoe fits._

“Ok, Mare, hold tight.” 

They speed into the neon-lit streets, to the heart of the city. 

~ 

Cal lives in a penthouse, Of course he does. Mare does her best effort not to gape like a fish, but it’s hard. Modern exposed concrete walls decorated with abstract art of furious red and black colors separate the wide living and dining room areas from the kitchen to the right. The high ceiling is governed by an imposing brass chandelier that some boujie interior design magazine must have had as a cover at some point. An entire section of the wall is glass, looking out into the city horizon like a sea of ever-changing multicolored lights. She could fit her ratty apartment five times inside this place. 

Cal shrugs off his jacket and extends his arm to get hers. She ignores him and places her jacket on the hanger. 

Now that he isn’t illuminated by strobing lights, and isn’t wearing his helmet, Mare gets to really inspecting him up and close. She was wrong back in the club, he isn’t just a hot guy, he is disgustingly, impossibly gorgeous. The way the white shirt clings to his broad shoulders and the way those fitted pants hug his legs, thick like he doesn’t ever skip leg day. And his face, ugh she can’t even look at him; masculine rough angles that make her want to do all kinds of creative things with that delicate plush mouth of his- and ok, maybe it’s been a while since she got some (7 months approximately), but she’s never been the kind to have one night stands. She tried a few times after she broke up with Tyton and it wasn’t worth the effort. This man, however, is awakening things in her she thought herself too pragmatic to feel. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Maybe later,” she shrugs. 

Cal leads her to the living area to the left, walks over to a turntable, and shuffles through a wide catalog of vinyl albums neatly stacked next to it. Mare jumps and sits on top of the mahogany table, crossing her dangling legs. These shoes make her calves look great. 

“So…” she clears her throat, “do you have condoms, Tiberias?” 

He flinches like she shot him spitball to the neck. 

“Please don’t call me that” he grimaces. It makes her wonder if, besides the obvious reason, there’s something else to it. “I have condoms, don’t worry.” He finally finds whatever he is looking for and puts the vinyl in the record player. The music starts with a soft scratch. 

“80’s nostalgia. Nice.” 

“Do you have any rules for this?” He asks walking over to her looking lost. 

“No kissing,” she answers instantly. It’s not that she gave a lot of thought to it, but she figures at least some things should remain sacred. He averts his eyes for an instant. Is he disappointed with _that_? “And no choking.” 

“That’s it?” 

Mare eyes him up and down in a way she hopes looks thoughtful and not the blatant ‘I want you to ruin me for an entire week’ it really is. 

“Yup.” 

“I’m not into choking anyway,” he shrugs nonchalantly but a slight blush creeps to his cheeks and ears. “Dance with me,” he requests extending his hand in offering. 

Dance? To this cheesy romantic music? He should know he doesn’t need to seduce her or whatever his intention is when he’s paying for it. They can just get straight to business. Unless... this is some intricate fetish. 

He mistakes Mare’s puzzled frown. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t-” 

“No, no. I mean, it’s fine.” She takes his hand and hops down from the table. “I like dancing. But why?” 

Cal chuckles as he places his other hand high on her back, like middle-school prom high. Maybe he is shy and needs a little help getting cozy. Why would a guy like that be afraid of? She has no clue. So, she grabs it and drags it lower. He pulls her flush to him in a decided movement. Maybe she rushed calling him shy. “Because I’ve been meaning to ask you the whole night,” the confession comes easily. 

Mare cranes her neck to look at his expressive bronze eyes. He doesn’t seem to be lying but he must be. 

“You don’t believe me.” 

“That sounds like the start of a bad pick up line, Cal.” 

He laughs a clear melodic laugh that makes her chest do a weird flip. They sway to the soft rhythm of the music, casting shadows on the hardwood floor. 

“It’s true! I saw you, but you kept disappearing. You’re very elusive.” It sounds like a compliment. 

“Not enough,” she sulks frustrated. “I haven’t been up to criminal activities for quite some time, you know? I do have a job.” 

Much to her mother’s dismay, Mare enjoys her job as an electrician. Ruth says it’s a waste of her talent and intelligence, but college is not an option when she barely managed to graduate high school. Also, creating light and deciphering the hidden marvels running through walls that make modern society work it’s something quite fascinating, it makes her feel like she can read a language hidden in plain sight. The fact that her boss pays her scraps because she isn’t licensed is a whole different story. 

“You don’t strike me as a greedy person and The Rift is owned by the family of the girl you tried to steal from,” he shakes his head amused. “I just don’t understand it.” 

There is no judgment in his voice, so she lets the weight fall off her shoulders, telling him the truth. 

“I didn’t know that. I would have picked a different target if I had,” she says half-jokingly, then she sighs. “My little sister got accepted into the _École des arts_ ,” she butchers the french name Gisa tried a hundred times to teach her. “In freaking Paris. I know it must not sound like a big deal for your kind, but it’s a miracle for my parents. Gisa would be the first of our entire family to get higher education.” Her voice wavers a little, in a way, Gisa is the Barrow’s last hope. “She busted her ass working all summer to save for tuition. So did my parents, so did my brothers… so did I, but then we got news the housing fee wasn’t included.” She remembers how Gisa’s sweet face fell as she read the letter over the breakfast table last week. “We all tried and failed to get the rest of the money... And here we are.” 

“And here we are,” he echoes her words deep in thought. Then he pulls her by the hand into a dark hallway. “Come on.” 

Mare gets dizzy from whiplash. Are they going to do this _now_? Right after she opened up about her pathetic life? Yeah, he definitely has some weird fetish. 

They enter a dark room and her vision takes time to adjust. Cal lights a desk lamp on the far end of the room. Oh, it’s an office. He opens a drawer and pulls something from it, sits down on a leather chair, and starts scribbling something with a fountain pen. 

Mare slowly makes her way over, taking in the luxurious wood paneling and ancient framed maps. 

“I never understood why rich people have home offices,” she wonders making a globe spin and then stopping it with her finger. She had always wanted to do that and pack her bags to simply go to the place her finger lands, someday she might. “Don’t you get sick of work?” 

He looks at her with a glint on his red-gold eyes, then he chuckles. 

“I do, but I don’t have a choice.” 

Mare leans over the desk on her elbows in what she hopes is a sexy way, that way she can see what he is writing. “Why? Does your daddy get mad?” He is writing her check, for Mare Titanos, for the humble sum of fifty thousand dollars. She almost slips and falls on her face, dumbstruck by the number. _Shit, she needs him to change the name_. 

“Not anymore,” he answers cryptically as he lifts his face. When his gaze meets hers, his jaw goes slack and his eyes darken. Good, she can use this. She goes around the desk, without taking her eyes off his, she couldn’t if she tried. Cal is the sun and she is a stupid planet about to crash into him and burn. She shouldn’t be so eager to make a good ‘job’, but she suspects money has little to do with it. It’s not something she will freely admit, though. 

“You are the boss now,” her tone is like a purr, low and sweet. She pushes the wheeled chair back, enough to stand between Cal’s legs. His throat bobs as he swallows, but his voice still comes out raspy. 

“Yes, I am.” He looks at her like a man witnessing a miracle, wide-eyed and barely blinking, his nails digging into the leather of the armrests. It makes her feel powerful to loom over this mountain of a man. The crimson heat clouding her judgment extends down to her chest, and to her belly like a hunger. 

“That’s too bad, I never quite liked the bosses I’ve had.” Mare slowly drags her knee over the inside of his right leg. When she’s about to reach the bulge between them, she swiftly holds on to his shoulders and props her legs on the chair, hovering over his thigh. She’s losing focus of why she did this in the first place, every inch of her skin too hot and tense, begging for _more_. Cal places his hands on her thighs and she almost jumps from his burning touch, almost bruising. 

“I’m not your boss,” he sounds angry- no, not angry, but rough. It’s intoxicating. 

“That check has my name on it,” she replies taunting him, feigning disappointment. “That would make you my boss.” 

“I’ll change the name then,” he quickly offers, pushing the chair forward so fast the edge of the desk digs at her back and nudges her body closer to his. “What do you want me to write?” 

“Make it a donation to my sister, Gisa Barrow.” She keeps her tone playful, even though she’s sweating, hoping he doesn’t think much of the last name. She hears the sound of pen scraping paper, then he loudly drops the pen, returning his hand to her body. 

Desire pulses and aches inside of her, she lowers herself, straddling his muscled wide thigh almost gasping when she feels the much-needed pressure between her legs. It’s barely something and it’s driving her crazy. She grasps his chin, running her fingers through his silky black hair. “You’re such a good boy, Cal.” 

“I can be better than good,” he smirks darkly as he grabs her hips and drags her forward and back in painfully slow motion. A jolt of hot pleasure shoots up her spine and she arches her back, digging her nails into the firm flesh of his shoulder as she starts moving her hips following the pace he set. This is torture, she tries to move faster, but he stops her abruptly. “Don’t be so impatient, Mare.” 

She wants to slap him for being so cruel. Instead, she unbuttons his dress shirt and trails open-mouthed kisses from his shoulder to his neck, leaving smudged red lipstick marks. His breathing grows ragged. Then his cellphone starts vibrating. 

He growls low on his throat and gets the phone from his pocket, declining the call without even checking the caller ID. Not a second passes and it starts vibrating again, he does check this time and Mare twists her neck to see who is calling him on a Saturday night. Maybe his girlfriend, maybe a booty call. She crushes an unwelcome spark of jealousy. It’s neither of those. It’s Evangeline, her contact saved as ‘Eve’. He declines again. And again, it starts vibrating. Mare stifles a laugh. “You should get that.” 

“I’m sorry. Give me a second.” He gives up, looking at her apologetically and taking the cellphone up to his ear. “Eve, it’s late.” He grumbles into the line. 

“Calore, next time you feel like playing knight in shining armor-” the furious snobbish tone carries to her ears and Mare starts feeling like behaving badly. With devilish intent, she starts grinding down at the pace her body begs her for, kissing Cal’s neck. “-please refrain from doing it at MY OWN BIRTHDAY PARTY.” 

“I didn’t mean to ruin your night,” he manages to choke out. Mare finds a sensitive spot bellow his ear and feels his entire body tense like a bowstring beneath her. 

“I _know_ you’ve never met that girl before. She was as plain as they come and her dress was trash, she has Wal-Mart shopper written all over her,” a sneer can be heard in her tone. Mare’s revenge is biting on the sensitive skin, raking her hands greedily down Cal’s hard, toned chest. His grip on her hip tightens. 

“Fuck,” the curse escapes past his lips. She’s close, her breaking point so near she whimpers, relishing on the wonderful friction, her pace turning desperate. 

“Cal, are you even listening to me?” 

“I’ll call you tomorrow-” 

Mare lets out a breathy moan. 

“IS SHE THERE?” Evangeline screeches and Cal unceremoniously hangs up, letting the phone fall to the floor. 

He pulls her dress up in a rough motion, to grab a handful of her exposed ass. He pushes her further down on him with a grunt, providing the extra pressure she needed. “Fuck, you are so, so good.” She keeps moaning into his hot skin, her hips squirming rhythmically. The building ecstasy finally crashes into her, shaking her with its delicious current and she holds on to him like he is the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. Feeling boneless, she lets her forehead rest on the crook of his neck, as they both try to get their breathing back to normal. 

Cal then surprises her by lifting her and walking over to the doorway putting her back on the floor there, so she’s pressed against the frame looking up at him expectantly. “Thanks for helping me get rid of Eve,” he jokes playing with the strap of her dress. 

Is this the part where they have sex? She hopes it is. 

“My pleasure,” she doesn’t realize the innuendo until it’s too late and Cal grins like an idiot. 

“Yeah, I could tell.” 

_What a dork._ Mare bites her lip looking away, willing herself not to laugh. “Should we go to your bedroom now?” she mutters all matter-of-factly. 

“If you want to…” he offers in a way that makes it clear it is her choice. Besides being a dork, he is confusing. What the hell does he think he is paying for? And why is she even more turned on now? Nothing makes sense. 

“God, Cal, you’re impossible.” She rips off his dress shirt and tosses it aside, revealing his chiseled glistening abs, devouring him with her eyes. He enthusiastically does his part, but he takes his time admiring her, bending to kiss her. His scorching kisses are branding her, setting her on fire like she feared he would. She lays her palms on his chest, feeling the wild beat of his heart as if it were her own. The straps of her dress slip down to her elbows so she takes a step back to let it pool at her feet. His gaze rakes over her adoring and possessive. Her heart skips a beat, she’s glad she chose to wear nice lacy black panties and a matching strapless bra. She kicks off the high heels. 

“You’re very beautiful, Mare,” he whispers, and there’s no insincerity in his husky voice. It tugs at something inside of her painfully. He saves her from having to answer by taking her waist, bending to resume kissing her neck, claiming her skin with his delightfully wet mouth and soft bites. He kneels before her to descend over the valley of her breasts, to her abdomen and Mare thinks she might pass out from how drunk with lust makes her feel. Then, the worst imaginable thing happens, shattering the moment: her empty stomach growls very, very loudly. They both freeze on the spot. 

She- wants- to- _die_. Blood colors her face and ears a deep scarlet blush. Mare lowers her eyes mortified, afraid of what she’ll find. Does he hate her now? Will he kick her out? Is he angry? Cal is looking away to the hallway, she can only see the top of his head. Then he lifts his face and says in a mocking tone. 

“And here I was, thinking the look on your face was because you wanted me... turns out you were just hungry,” he barely manages to say before bursting into booming laughter. The pun is so bad it almost angers her. _Almost_. She tries to remain stoic. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Mare pushes him and he falls on his ass, laughing even more at his terrible joke. “I had a lot going on today. Eating was the least of my priorities.” She tries to explain burning with embarrassment. She had been running around the city trying to find some last-minute favor to call in or shady loan business to sell her soul to, she was willing to do anything. 

“Be honest...” he contains himself enough to ask. “Is that why you were biting so much?” he loses it again and Mare can’t hold it anymore and joins him, until they are both sitting on the floor, crying with laughter. 

“What was your excuse then?” she fires back, pointing at some clearly visible bite marks over her breast. 

He raises his hands in defeat. “I have none... you just looked-” 

“Say what I think you’re going to say and I’ll kill you.” She glares at him trying and failing to look threatening. 

A grin extends on his perfect features as he ignores the threat and says it anyway, “ _ravishing_.” 

She lurches at him and tries to playfully punch him, but he evades her and sneaks under her, suddenly standing up and fireman lifting her over his shoulder. Mare yelps and slaps his broad back. 

“Put me down!” 

“No, I like the view,” he chirps pinching her buttock. Well, she can’t argue with that, she does have a great ass. As he carries her, he bends effortlessly to pick up his discarded shirt. 

He deposits her on the kitchen floor and tosses his crumpled dress shirt at her. 

“Put that on,” Cal requests as he shuffles through the fridge. 

She obeys, folding the sleeves several times, amused that it is so big on her, enjoying the softness of the expensive fabric. “Why?” 

“Because you are distracting.” 

It goes to her head like a shot of tequila; she bites her thumbnail to hide her giddy smile. Cal pulls an egg carton and vegetables and pushes the fridge door closed with his foot. “What are we having?” 

“A Frittata.” He arranges the ingredients on top of the massive white marble island that dominates the space of the pristine kitchen. “Another way of saying scrambled eggs with literally anything you want to add.” 

“So... a vegetable tortilla.” She watches him work leaning her side on the counter, her arms folded. 

“I thought tortillas were flour discs.” He pronounces the word in that funny way white people do, turning the _LL_ into _L_. 

“They are, but you can also call a tortilla anything you prepare in a pan. One would think a guy who knows how to cook a frittata would know that,” she pokes him. 

“Hey, it’s one of the two dishes I can cook.” He scrunches his nose like it’s embarrassing to admit. “I’m clueless when it comes to culinary skills.” 

Whatever flaws she finds out pull him down closer with the rest of human beings such as her. It makes her like him more. 

Mare gasps placing her hand on her chest. “And they let _you_ be the boss?” 

He leans toward her conspiratorially, “I know, right? Those corporate idiots.” He is lifting the mixture bowl to pour it into the pan and Mare realizes with horror he hasn’t even used pepper. She shoots her hand to grab his arm, to stop him. 

“What?” he asks startled. 

“My Colombian mother might materialize right here and kill us both if we don’t season that. Where do you keep your spices?” 

Cal opens a cabinet and it’s not at all what she expected. There must be at least 50 neatly stacked glass spice jars, it’s overwhelming. She regrets mocking him now when she doesn’t know what most of the stuff in there is. 

“You said you didn’t cook,” she whispers. 

“I don’t. I have a chef come over twice a week.” 

“Ah.” She nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. No need to panic, she can just use whatever seems familiar and hope for the best. Like an unsupervised child, Mare starts pulling jars, smelling them, and passing them over to Cal. 

“Uhm... don’t you think this is enough?” 

She turns around to the sight of Cal precariously juggling like 10 jars. She nods and they go back. Cal watches with a worried frown how she adds the spices, like she is preparing a homemade bomb, but dares not utter a word. Mare adds the last red thing and pours the mixture into the pan. “It will be fine.” She pats him on the chest patronizingly and puts the lid on. 

While they wait, Cal offers her a drink and she asks for red wine. If she’s going to have a taste of how the 1% lives for one night, she might as well make the most of it. He flips the tortilla and the kitchen air fills with a... weird smell, for lack of a better word. She’s starting to doubt her seasoning decisions. When it’s done, Cal serves two plates and gives her one. They both look at the dish in a questioning way, standing next to the counter, before gathering the courage to taste it. “Bon Appetit,” Mare says clinking her fork with his. She takes three large bites, her expression slowly turning into a grimace, before she realizes how hot it is _. Holy shit, it’s going to melt her throat._ They both look at each other, coming to the realization at the same time. Cal’s eyes start to water. 

They drop the plates on the counter and run for the sink. Cal opens the tap and dives to drink straight from it. Mare pushes him aside to do the same and they blindly elbow each other trying to get to the water. Cal gives up and turns to the freezer, pulling out an ice cream pint and grabbing a spoon before shoving a mouthful like a madman. The burning in Mare’s mouth subsides to a bearable sting, she wipes her mouth closing the tap, innocently turning to look at her inadvertent victim. “I should have mentioned I don’t know how to cook either.” 

His face lights up and they burst out laughing. Maybe it’s the fact she just avoided death by poisoning, or the fact that everything seems so easy with him, she feels herself relax and, much to her surprise, enjoy this. Who is this human version of a golden retriever? Cal is unlike anyone she’s ever met. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were going to kill me,” he shakes his head narrowing his eyes with a handsome crooked smile. 

Mare jumps to sit on top of the island counter and makes a dismissal gesture with her hand. “I told you I disliked bosses and you didn’t listen. That’s on you.” 

Cal laughs again throwing his head back slightly. Mare finds herself entranced by the sight of his pale neck covered with her rouge, and his impossibly toned chest. A warm pulse between her legs makes her avert her gaze and clear her throat. Thankfully, Cal doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Here,” he says handing her the ice cream and the spoon. “Help yourself.” 

“Thanks.” Vanilla isn’t her favorite, but this one seems made of clouds, it’s delicious. Even ice cream is better when you’re rich. She wonders what is it that he does to earn enough to buy heaven in a pint. “What did you say you did for a living?” she contentedly swings her legs. 

“I run my family’s company...” he scratches his head like he doesn’t want to continue, but says anyway. “You may have heard of it, FlameNor?” 

_FlameNor_ , the oil company that technically monopolizes the gas market in all of Norta and several other countries. Her mouth falls open and she blurts out the first thing that comes to her mind. "You fired 100 workers without paying them a cent last week," her tone surprised and indignant. It's not a question, the situation has been all over the news for the past few days. She feels uneasy, looking at the charming guy before her in a new light. 

Cal looks tired, angry even. "I know, I know." He grumbles clenching his fists. "I tried to avoid it but the board's decision was made up." 

"Aren't you the CEO? you can do whatever you want," she fires back. How dare he pretend he gives a crap when he's having fine wine, going clubbing while 100 families don't know if they will be able to feed their children next month? 

"It doesn't work like that, Mare," he gives her a defeated look. "If I veto the vo-" 

"It's your family's business," she cuts him off. 

"The fact that I have the power to veto doesn't mean that I can." 

"Why not?" she's fired up about it. It's not wise to confront a man like that in his own house, but she can't help it. She is no revolutionary; it doesn't mean she'll shut up and smile. 

"Because," he pinches the bridge of his nose frustrated like he's gone over this a thousand times, "I've made changes, important ones, in regards to worker's health benefits, workplace safety, environmental regulations, but it's not enough. It's not nearly enough and to keep making those changes I need the support of the majority and they would never support me again if veto them just like that. I'm in an impossible position, Mare." He looks at her desperately, eager to make her understand. She does kind of see what he means, trying to think of the bigger picture until he opens his mouth again. "It's like... like that ice cream." 

"What?" 

"If it were up to me, I would only eat sugar, and ice cream is my favorite thing in the universe but because of my meals regime I can only eat one scoop once a week." 

Mare looks at him dead in the eye for ten seconds. Yup, this just confirms she was right. Still, he does seem to care _somewhat_ about people, he's just too twisted in his own head. Perhaps a dose of working-class smarts could make him see the light. 

"Cal, that's the stupidest analogy I've _ever_ heard," she deadpans. "Come here." He takes a few tentative steps, and she keeps signaling for him to get closer until he's right before her. "You are giving the same level of priority to different situations: in one," she raises her hand with her palm up. "You speak of a possible future you're afraid of because of speculation or whatever is going on in that little savior complex head of yours. On the other," she raises the other hand. "100 families, who couldn't give less of a shit about your big table dramas, will have to explain to their children why they have to go to bed with empty stomachs. And I can assure you, they won't shrug and say 'Oh well, but he had such good intentions'. Know what I mean?" She comes off a bit condescending, unable to get over how pissed off she is. 

A moment passes. 

"I think- fuck. I think you're right." He runs his hands through his hair, mussing it up. "I can't let that happen. I won't." He declares looking up at her. Her anger ebbs away as she watches the epiphany take place behind his eyes. 

"Good, you get to keep you 'human being with a soul' card. For now." She ruffles his hair, then she picks up the ice cream pint again. "Now have some ice cream. Fuck the meal plan, you can do whatever you want." Mare takes a spoonful of it and offers it to him, shushing his hand away when he tries to grab the spoon. 

"What?" Cal smirks, "you don't trust me to break the rules?" he closes the distance until he's pressed against the counter, standing between her legs. 

She could go to hell for thirsting over a 'capitalistic pig' like Farley would surely call him. But right now, with Cal's body heat making her skin prickle, her brother's socialist activist girlfriend is the last thing on her mind. 

"I do," she puts the spoon in his parted mouth. Cal doesn't break from her gaze, stepping up to her game, and she feels breathless like someone burned the oxygen from the room. "But I want to be the one to indulge your desires." _Did she just say that aloud?_ Fuck, she _is_ going to hell for class treason. 

Cal's throat bobs, his eyes go dark. She feels a wicked thrill to have such an effect on a man who practically owns the world. Wondering how much further she can take it, Mare grabs another spoonful and slowly takes it into her mouth, sucking obscenely, and then another, this time letting a drop slide down her lower lip. A muscle twitches on Cal's jaw, now staring at her lips half-lidded and with a slight frown. She wipes the drop with her thumb and licks it clean. “Any more rules you feel like breaking, Cal?” she all but invites him to do it, she knows he wants to. Her body is electrified, filled with sparks of anxious expectation. 

“Just one.” His voice comes out low, dark as he tangles his hand on the back of her head and pulls her into him, kissing her fiercely. The sparks finally light her up completely and she’s so happy she could explode into a cloud of confetti. She locks her ankles at the small of his back and surrounds his neck with her arms. She melts into him wondering if this is how kissing is really supposed to feel, all-consuming, and like you can never get enough of it. Cal lifts her up and, by some miracle, he doesn’t trip over anything as he carries her to the bedroom. 

They keep making out, driving each other to the edge of sanity, as they touch and caress. Then, out of nowhere, a third being makes its presence loudly known to the dark room with an angry _MEOW_. Mare and Cal break from the kiss to turn their confused faces in the direction of the sound. A fat fluffy black cat stares up at them from the center of the bed, he meows again, softer, like it is pleased to have been acknowledged. “He doesn’t seem happy to see me,” Mare comments as she unlatches her legs from his waist, dropping to the floor. 

“Corona,” he grumbles as he reaches for the cat, but the animal jumps sideways, refusing to be lifted. The little cockblocker. 

“You named your cat _crown_?” She sits on the edge of the mattress and makes kissing noises extending her hand. The cat saunters over to her and tilts his little head into her palm. 

“He was my father’s, and Ela- _my stepmother_ ,” he corrects himself, “didn’t want to keep it around in their house after he...” _passed away_. The air in the rooms grows cold. The words he said earlier when she teased him about his father ordering him around make sense now, she feels terrible. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, studying the somber look in his eyes, the tension of his shoulders and tired shadows under his eyes she hadn’t noticed before. This is what’s weighing on him, a legacy he has to uphold when he is barely 23, two years older than her. This is what he meant he was in an impossible place? 

“It’s ok. Corona isn’t that bad once he warms up to you,” Cal weakly tries to alleviate the situation by deflecting back to the cat. She wants to make him feel better like her life depends on it, it hurts to see him suffer, but she sucks at emotions and compassion. Her strong suit has always been turning the shit in her life into dark humor. 

“Do you ever just... lie down? You should stop to rest every once in a while.” Corona meows again offended she stopped petting him and takes off. 

“I don’t.” The answer isn’t blunt, just honest. 

“Well, no time like the present.” She climbs to the center on the bed, kneeling there she pats the mattress. “Lie down.” She tries to keep her voice steady like she knows what she’s doing. 

He hesitates, rolling his angular jaw like relaxing is some foreign scary concept but gives in in the end. Cal removes his shoes and lies face down next to her. She straddles him and starts massaging his shoulders and back. It takes all of her willpower not to let her mind turn this into something sexual but she fails miserably as blood blushes her body and her heart hammers her ribs. He hums pleased and Mare has to look up and pray her body will stop reacting so strongly. To distract herself, she looks out the window, into the magnificent view of the city below while she works the knots in his muscles. 

“What do you do?” He rests his cheek over his crossed arms like a pillow, so his voice isn’t muffled. “I mean when you’re not stealing or trying to poison unethical people.” 

“Wasn’t it obvious? I’m an electrician.” She waits for the usual disbelief or mocking. Instead, he smiles softly. 

“That makes sense. You are very bright after all.” She should have seen that one coming, she bites her lips, holding back from laughing or slapping him. She’s on the fence about it. “And do you enjoy it?” he is curious, heavens know why. 

“I love it,” Mare admits softly. 

“You could major in it- god, that feels good,” he sighs as she massages his scalp. 

She chuckles dismissively. “No, I couldn’t. University isn’t for people like me.” 

“It could be,” he says groggily, his lids closing. “You’re the most…” 

“The most disruptive person you’ve ever met?” she feels his breathing go steady, the tension in him evaporating completely like a curse being broken. 

“Amazing. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Mare.” Cal’s slurs until it turns into soft snoring. Mare feels a different warm take over her, more tender and deeper. A yawn escapes her lips and she lets herself fall next to him. The pale light from the outside world makes his high cheekbones and long lashes cast shadows over his pale face. She likes him like this. She likes him. She likes him so, so much… _fuck_. 

Mare knew this was a mistake from the get-go. A pang of painful yearning squeezes her lungs as she falls asleep looking at him. He must do this all the time, with dozens of other women. She can’t allow herself the disappointment or the pain that comes from losing him, because he was never hers. She cuddles against him, knowing this is another mistake and inhales the intoxicating smell of cologne, ink, and sweat from his skin. That’s how she falls asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> As a latina myself I can confirm I'll never get tired of the way white ppl say "tortilla". A silly detail, I know. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it :D


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